Something Like a Life
by Fadingsilverstar16
Summary: A series of short stories about the Once-ler, taking place in the first few years of his exile. And maybe it's fitting that he ends up with the one person whom he always cared about most. Oncest.
1. Year 1

GOOD LORD. I cannot believe I'm doing this. I swear, this character grabbed my muse and and just wouldn't let go until I wrote something.

I'm never going to live this down, am I? Yeah. Never gonna live it down. Oh well. At least I'm getting my awful fanfic writing stage out of the way now so I can look back and feel shame later instead of being older and doing this. Bleh.

Anyway, I shouldn't be angsting much in these chapter notes because there is plenty of that ahead, trust me.

Hope somebody out there enjoys!

* * *

_Crowd of Two_

For the first year, the last thneed ever made lay untouched, in the farthest corner of the top room where no light could reach.

Under different circumstances, it might have been very easy for the Once-ler to forget it was even there. This was reality, though, so once in a blue moon, while life or an imitation of it tried to go around it, the pink bundle just had to catch his eye like a spark in the distance.

Ignoring it most of the time took more effort than expected, but he managed. There was always something else that needed to be done whenever he let himself look at the thneed, like trying to keep the bugs out of the little kitchen downstairs, or inventing a filter-thing so the shower wouldn't spew black water anymore, or sitting, which was what he usually did. Sitting, staring out the window at nothing in particular, thinking dimly of a time long ago when a dark sky meant rain and nothing else.

Or working on the Unless.

That's what he figured the Unless was, at least. A thing. A tangible, actual thing instead of the vague idea he, like everyone, had assumed it was before he'd gotten the chance to cradle a little seed in his hands, his gloves stained with grime, asking it to _please grow for me please_ like a madman. He'd been so sure, then, that a little dirt here and a little water there mixed with something like love (?) would bring the trees back. People grew things all the time, didn't they? Why should a tree be any different? He was the one who'd ruined it all; shouldn't he be the one to fix it?

It was logic. It was obvious. It didn't work.

The Once-ler fell asleep outside, once, next to the little stone monument with the seed at his right, covered in a little mound of loose, damp soil that could have passed for sand. In his dreams, a bushy mustache mumbled things about nature's forgiveness and rejection, that the Unless was not for him. But it wasn't as if he ever remembered his dreams when he awoke, other than the fact that they were far too bright and peaceful to be real, these days.

So for those first year, while the thneed sat being useless in its corner, he worked and pleaded every moment he could. That is, until that one time when the seed didn't grow and the thneed caught his eye on the very same day and suddenly, he realized that he'd had it all wrong. Maybe the Unless, he reasoned, was an object. Something he could operate to force the seed to take root. His greatest invention. The answer to his biggest mistake.

And that mockery of an epiphany was what brought him all the way to now, to the planning of the great Unless. Granted, the blueprint stage hadn't progressed much past scratching the title out with a pointy rock on his bedroom wall, but it was something. Gripping the rock like a lifeline, his hand twitched in anticipation. This was it, this was it, this was it.

Except it wasn't, or it wasn't _yet_, since his mind was giving him visions of a young man with a smile and a guitar in a forest rather than anything resembling an Unless. Trying to force something out, he brought the rock to the wall again, carved out the word again just to give his body something to do.

_UNLESS_

The person in his head who did not exist anymore whistled a terrible, made-up tune, strumming along with his instrument.

_UNLESS_

He was leaning against a tree, breathing clean air that could have lasted forever if certain things hadn't happened.

_UNLESS_

The man turned his head up, looking at wisps of pink and orange waving smoothly in the breeze like it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, and all at once the Once-ler wanted to grab him and tell him to never let what he felt at that moment become anything less or more. To always stay the same, no matter what.

_UNLESS_

But that was silly for more than one reason.

_UNLESS_

The young man looked surprised, his strumming hand falling into his lap. His smile disappeared as he turned his head, staring directly at the Once-ler in wonder.

"You understand?"

_UNL_-

The rock clattered to the floor. The Once-ler's empty hand curled into a fist, which he pressed against the wall to get a grip on himself because he was _absolutely not _hearing things. Breathing hard, he pressed his chapped lips firmly together, but closing his eyes only made colors of the scene before him sharpen, so vivid they could blind a sane person.

The young man started playing his guitar again, and the trees swayed to the beat.

"You don't have to talk. I'm just glad you get it."

The Once-ler squeezed his eyes shut harder, hard enough that now he can see the stitching on the man's clothes and the texture of the grass beneath them. Harder, and the other individual seemed to get closer, so close that the Once-ler towered over him but cast no shadow. Instead of his money-green fist balled up against the wall, it dug against the Truffula tree, which stood firm and alive against the pressure.

"I get it?" he echoed, his voice rough and scratchy from lack of use. The other nodded, smiling too serenely to be sincere.

"You get why it's silly. I know how much I love these trees! That will never change. I _need_ these." The trees closest to them bobbed their tufts in agreement, but the Once-ler hesitated.

"You... you love them."

The young man nodded.

"Yep. Just as much as you do. For all the wrong reasons." He stopped strumming again, looking up at his counterpart with big, clear eyes not dulled with regret or sorrow.

"Do you get that?" he asked. The Once-ler blinked down at him, at a complete loss what to say. This was not happening. This was not supposed to happen. His younger self was supposed to be furious at him, at what he'd become. He was supposed to yell and scream, not set his guitar down calmly and stand up, dusting off the Once-ler's suit like a mother or lover.

"C'mon, we never changed. Well, scratch that, we did, but still not for the best, right? 'S just as good as not changing at all."

Finally, finally he'd said something that the Once-ler could argue against, something he made him feel defiant rather than ill.

"I have changed for the better," he muttered as the other man straightened his tie with a gentleness he didn't deserve. "I-"

"Would've you have ever understood if you'd done if you'd found an alternative to the Truffula trees at the last minute? I mean, if the company hadn't gone." His counterpart's hands went from the tie to resting flat on his chest. His voice lowered a bit. "If you were still Mom's favorite."

The Once-ler's mouth dropped open to reply as he tried stepping back from this invasion of personal space, only to be followed and closed in on and oh God, he was being hugged by some insane bastardization of his past self. The one that was supposed to be innocent and..._ cute. _Anything instead of this self aware delusion in gray. Or maybe he was the insane one, or maybe they both were, or maybe he didn't even know anymore.

"If the Lorax hadn't made me promise, do you think I would have stopped chopping them down for as long as I did? I _am_ you, after all. Just... not as big."

Not having cried over everything that had happened for the past year, not even when he was alone, wasn't exactly something the Once-ler had prided himself on, but now he found himself on the edge of panic as he stood there in his own embrace and tried to keep it that way. Any moment now, he thought, those gray and white clothes of his other self would fizzle into green, and a top hat would fall onto his head from nowhere, and it would be his mirror image staring back at him. Because that's what this was, that's what he wanted it to be. His greedy self in hiding, masquerading as someone he'd be more inclined to listen to. Someone he could fight.

The person whom he used to be would never have felt this way.

But of course nothing changed as his other self smiled that same, dopey smile and playfully snuck his fingers down the front of the Once-ler's suit, leaning in.

"Me? I'm not much just yet. But you... look at you." The other man sighed like he was talking to his idol, his kisses no less than reverent. Little pecks on his neck, one on each cheek, a firm one on his lips.

"You're a king."

King of a wasteland.

"You're a legend."

A cautionary tale.

"You got to have it all!"

And lost it.

"You're the man I just _know_ I'm going to be.*

"_No_!" Something snapped inside the Once-ler's head, sending his mind reeling and his body barreling forward, gripping the other man's shoulders as he backed him up against the tree. Tears pricked at his eyes, finally able to slip down his cheeks without being choked back.

"You don't want this. We never wanted this. How could you be happy about this? _Why are you smiling_!"

He chuckled. His former self actually had the gall to chuckle and brought a hand up to cradle the Once-ler's face, eyes going soft and sad. At the breaking point at last, the Once-ler's eyes went wide as he reached up to grasp the other's wrist.

"Because I know this is what we both deserve," said the young man.

And as they kissed and sighed and moved less than gracefully against a Truffula tree that might have been a wall in a different situation, a lone thneed and a little seed sat in a corner somewhere facing a few _UNLESS_es, unaware and uncaring as any inanimate, inconsequential objects could ever be.


	2. Year 2

_Better Off Forgotten_

"I think you should go into town today," his other self said, first thing in the morning, two years after their exile. When the Once-ler gave him an incredulous look in return, his companion just shrugged and smiled. "You need things. Normal people need to eat and fix their clothes and stuff, after all. Just go!"

So he did, and the news would spread like wildfire. Later, in their homes and on their phones, Thneedville's people would murmur and whisper amongst themselves that yes, a familiar face in a green suit had walked right in around noon. He looked terrible, some said. Tired, like he'd trekked for ten miles just to get there. Those gloves of his were dirty and his hat… must have been lost somewhere, since he wasn't wearing it.

No sunglasses, either, though the dark rims around his eyes had much of the same effect.

At first it was just a rumor, but later witness reports would confirm that Ms. Roswell, who'd had to send her asthmatic granddaughter away when the smog got really bad, was the first to mumble something in his general direction. Something about ___not having learned a damned thing, showing your face back here_.

The next little snippet of information was considered fact straightaway, that after at least a half-hour of looking lost and embarrassed, he'd actually stopped single mother Ms. Dillborn to ask her where the grocery store was. The woman herself, her small daughter in tow, kept right on walking past.

Stories like those kept at least one neighborhood talking for a whole week. Mr. Kingsley had shouldered past him without an apology. Wilma, only three years old, had smiled at him, only to be pulled away by her father before he could even notice. Mr. O'Hare, in the planning stage of his promise to bring back clean air, had outright giggled. The grocery store owner had glared at him, the corners of her mouth twisting down behind her thneed scarf. Mostly, it was the people who'd lost their jobs because of him doing the most interacting, but no one could say that for certain.

People documented where he went, typing out short text messages on their phones as they saw him. The grocery store, the fabric store, the general market. A couple of days later, everyone in the general area had seen a picture of him right under an old advertisement for the company he'd destroyed. The image was rather blurred (he'd been walking kind of fast at that particular moment), but boy, did it get around.

He went back at around four, the local policeman was sure. Just stepped into the haze at the edge of town with a few plastic bags in his hands.

And that was when it happened. Most said a kid threw a rock at him. Some said it was a teen, who's first job had been at the thneed factory. Someone did ___something_, though people shook their heads when asked what it was and who did it. The truth would stay a mystery forever.

But nobody doubted what happened next. The man only faltered for about a second, glancing back at the staring bystanders with something wild in his eyes, and then kept on walking.

At the end of the night, in the not quite solitude of his little bedroom, the Once-ler laughed himself to sleep while his counterpart kissed his tears away.

"I'm sorry," his younger self murmured, running long, un-gloved fingers through his hair. "I know we deser- Just… I'm sorry."

The Once-ler waved him off, still laughing. He'd never quite forget the feeling of tomato pulp running down his face, but getting spat on was something completely new.

He didn't go back into town for a long, long time.


	3. Year 3

_The Misery Scale_

It was another four months before he acknowledged the thneed's presence with more than just a glance. And even then, it wasn't his idea.

Up until that day, or better yet, until the moment he first cracked his eyes open that morning to feel the usual scratchy sensation at the back of his mouth persist past clearing his throat, the Once-ler had hardly noticed how monotonous his existence had become. Oh, he functioned. Ate, slept, breathed and all that, but there was nothing that could lift the heaviness in his limbs or the dullness from his eyes or the ever-present thought of _you did this_ that hung like a gray haze over his mind. Not one thing, except possibly the seed growing, but that was another problem all on its own.

Perhaps it was fitting. No doubt, it was more than deserved for him to deteriorate into something as bleak and colorless as the world around him, right? At least he could say he was a part of what he'd created, that way. At least there was a sense of poetry to it. Nature itself seemed to have forgotten such thing as changing the weather or seasons, and he forgot about making pancakes just so he could have something to slather warm butter on and how to play his favorite riff on the guitar (which he hardly had the money to re-string, anyway). It was a pitiful, tragic thing they had between them, but both were nothing if not consistent.

Or so he'd thought.

Waking up with a scratchy throat was not the problem. The Once-ler learned a long time ago that the kind of smoke the factories had produced had a way of making your breath catch in your lungs and a whole lot of other things. More than once, he'd sent a... "representative" down to keep local journalists and news stations from covering the numerous, unheeded complaints his PR suits had shredded, how many people had started experiencing headaches, the facts on just what he was pumping into the sky. But there was something about that air that people got used to, at least when it wasn't that bad.

This, on the other hand, was not because of the air.

Well, it was, kind of, but this time it was more temperature than quality. Cold breezes had been slipping through the wood nailed over nearby window the whole night, like Nature had suddenly woken up and remembered it could do such a thing. And now the Once-ler was sick.

So much for consistency.

He closed his eyes.

"You really shouldn't sleep in just boxers, you know. Well, not anymore. Remember pajamas? Pajamas were nice."

The Once-ler frowned, lips twitching in effort as he did his best to keep himself quiet. He was not going to reply, or acknowledge, or move (because something down inside told him moving would hurt and was definitely not worth it).

He was not doing this today.

"You don't really believe that. We do this every day!" A cool hand pressed to the Once-ler's face, half on his forehead, half over his eyes, and his counterpart said nothing for a little while, letting him pretend like he wasn't leaning into the touch.

* * *

The Once-ler forgot where the mug of hot water in his hands came from pretty quickly, whether he got up and made it himself or if it was his counterpart's doing. Not that it mattered, or anything.

(It was probably the latter.)

The cold had set in expected like they'd expected it to. Clogged nose, wet coughs, headache, stuffy ears, the works. Just sitting up in bed so he could drink made his shoulders ache and his skin prickle from the cool slipping in from outside.

And, of course, even after blowing on it, the first sip of the water burned his tongue. Icing on the cake.

"Do you remember that one time? It was... nine, ten years ago? You were ten or eleven, or something." His younger self, guitar in hand, sat on the floor next to the foot of his bed, playing an aimless tune in D minor. "It was getting close to New Years, right? Scratch that, it _might_ have been New Years. It was some holiday, and you wanted to invent a machine that could set off fireworks in a sequence. Chett and Brett had those two old bikes from when they were five out back, remember? The ones with the gears that were _perfect_ for it and they hadn't even used them in ten years. Mom had even said she was going to let Uncle take them out to the dump that week; nobody wanted them. So while the twins were in detention that week, you took the bikes out and disassembled them."

The Once-ler blinked at him blearily, half in confusion (seriously, why _this_ memory?) and half to make the itchiness in his eyes go away. The young man still picked at his guitar as he spoke, providing his own background music, and there was a fondness to his smile that made would make anyone jealous, or so his older self would have liked to think. Still, mulling over how a person could possibly sweat and shiver at the same time - even when covered by a blanket - was the more miserable alternative, so sitting back and listening was all the Once-ler could do for now. At least until the story ended or he coughed up a lung. Whichever came first.

"It took maybe... three weeks? A month? And it was in secret, too, since you wanted it to be a surprise for everyone. And you used that money you'd been saving to buy fireworks, and you made up a song specifically for it on your old guitar. The little acoustic one, with the superhero stickers on it."

He leaned back against the stiff bed post behind him, still playing in a daze, only to hit a sour note when the Once-ler lapsed into a coughing fit. Concerned, the young man set his guitar beside him and made to get up, but reluctantly sat back down at being dismissed with a jerky hand wave.

Still eying at the Once-ler warily, he continued without his instrument.

"So... um, you had it all set up. The song that you put on that one blank CD, the fireworks, the machine to set them off at the right moment. It was perfect, and even better, it worked," he breathed. "Well, the test drives did, anyway. I- sorry, _you_ did them in the vacant lot on the far end of town so not many people would notice, right? Then, Christmas came and went, and you got socks as usual, but it didn't even matter because that thing was going to _fix everything._" He turned his eyes to the ceiling, smiling again like the fireworks were going off right above his head. The Once-ler looked at him for a moment, then away.

Sure enough, his counterpart went silent for a short while. His smile faded.

"But Chett and Brett found out. They must have, right, even though it wasn't obvious at first since they didn't immediately hunt you down and break your nose. Might as well have, though. I mean, that and being strung up by your briefs on a fence outside of school and having your invention somehow end up in the middle of the street for cars to run over are kind of equal? Like, on the same level of the misery scale. And then..." he trailed off, tilting his head. "You just..."

"I think that might be it."

At least his younger self had the decency to look sheepish, at that.

"Yeah, well, I dunno. Not a very happy ending. It's just... that was the first thing the rain reminded me of."

The Once-ler stopped short, then slowly placed his mug on his little nightstand, staring cautiously at the other all the while.

"Rain..."

"Yep! On New Years, it ended up raining, so you wouldn't have been able do it anyway. You didn't notice that it's raining? I mean, it's not very loud, but-"

The rest of his words went unheard; the Once-ler was already out of the door, grabbing his suit and snatching up the seed as he went, struggling towards the outside with the aching steps of a man not well.

* * *

Their next encounter happened way too fast.

The Once-ler's counterpart was waiting for him when he staggered back into his bedroom, scrubbing at his already puffy eyes with his arm because of course nothing had happened, and the sheer number of things they could have said to each other then was more than enough to keep them both quiet at first. Not even telling his older self that only a child would be stubborn enough to waltz out into the rain when half-dying seemed worth it, thought the man in gray. They both were like children, really. In a way.

Or at least it felt like it, at the moment, as the Once-ler stood clutching the door frame with the seed in his hand, eyes darting between it and the ghost still sitting at the food of his bed like he didn't know which one to murder first. Said ghost's eyes widened for a second, but then he steeled himself, holding his hands up cautiously.

"Hey, what are you- _no_!"

The young man jumped up, crossed the room, caught the man in green's raised arm before he could throw the dormant seed and clamped his free hand over the other's mouth before any yell could escape.

"Listen. Just listen, and look at me. Trust me, I know. I really, really know, but I don't think you really want to do this," he said. Shaking from the cold and more than that, the Once-ler coughed and breathed hard into his palm, looking for all the world like he was about to pull away and go break something else. The young man knew he couldn't, in the state he was in, but damn if the look in his eyes wasn't enough to scare him.

So he did the best thing he could possibly do at that moment - smiled. Or tried to smile.

"I won't lie. Telling you it's okay would be a lie right now. It's just... we don't need to make it worse, alright? And I'm sure we can make it a little okay for a while if you don't get yourself sicker. You just need... um..."

He looked to the side.

"You need that thneed over there."

Eyes widening, his older self shoved him away so hard that he fell, and they had only one fleeting second to stare each other straight in the eyes before the Once-ler doubled over, dropped to his knees, and vomited.

Over the next hour, the rain got worse and so did the Once-ler, to the point where even lying still hurt. Balled up at the head of his bed, its stiff blanket and the worn thneed wrapped tight around him, it seemed like he couldn't go thirty seconds without deciding his current position was too uncomfortable and needed to be changed. The young man watched from his own spot on the mattress, perched on the edge of it with his guitar at his side.

"Do you remember... ah, never mind," he sighed. The oversized lump in front of him muttered and coughed in response, shivering even harder when the other reached out to touch his burning forehead. "At least the thneed will keep you from freezing to death."

And that was all either of them could really ask for, right now. Everything else could wait until later.

So when he edged closer to his companion and heard a hushed, muffled sound not unlike a sob, the young man kept quiet, lay down so he could curl his lanky arms around the other's shoulders, and closed his eyes.

Outside, nature raged and howled against them both, beat against the walls and rattled the doors of their home, doing what it could to punish and avenge before the usual smog returned the next day.


	4. Year 4

Just a minor warning: This chapter is why this fic is rated M. Uh, yeah.

* * *

_Snippets_

_1.) Who We Were and Are_

Sometimes he dreamed about the past, about sewing cloth together, about drawing up plans for amazing things, about his hands filled with sparkling coins, about I_'m so proud of you son_ and _you're_ _so smart Mr. Once-ler _and trees falling at a time when it was okay to not care.

Not that those dreams ever lasted. They might not have been the times when he saw plants screaming like they were alive or axes swinging at his limbs or a seed being lost to the wind, but his counterpart always shook him awake like they were nightmares anyway. Startled, his eyes would snap open and he'd instantly forget the dream, but he never refused to let the other pull him close the same.

It took him a while to notice that those were the only times he'd seen a genuinely fearful expression on the young man's face, though he never mentioned it. Likewise, his other self never mentioned that those dreams were the only times he'd seen the Once-ler smile.

_2.) Real Enough_

It was an hour before the Once-ler noticed the purple mark on his counterpart's right cheek, two days before he had the decency to feel guilty about it, and a week before he gently touched his thumb to it and apologized. As expected, he got that same sleepy smile and an acceptance in response, but sometimes, he almost wished he hadn't.

What he didn't notice was that the young man had spent the entire time poking at it, making it hurt, enamored and happy and scared that he could feel pain in the first place.

_3.) Fall Down in Black Together_

They didn't kiss often, but when they did, it was only on bad days.

Which was another way of saying "about once every seventy-two hours", but the Once-ler didn't like to think that was timing it or anything, that they were falling into a meaningless routine like they had with everything else. It made guilt burn in his stomach to think about it, but when he was rich, at least there'd been a sense of passion to what he was doing. And he'd fought for it until the very end.

Now? Well, the young man always reached out to him first.

The Once-ler had made a sort of art out of forgetting and ignoring things, these days, so half the time the reason why he was crying or screaming at nothing or sitting in bed with his head buried in his hands slipped his mind the moment the young man touched him. Smiling, always smiling, the delusion would tug on his arm, or hug him, or just grasp his shoulder and God, did the Once-ler really used to be like that? He couldn't even remember.

But it didn't matter. Nothing really mattered, save for that certain tightness in his chest and throat that only the younger him could bring on.

The other's movements were always so tender that it ached, like it was for the both of them instead of just for the Once-ler. The young man would clutch the back of his neck with those too-long fingers, cradle his face, press their foreheads together. Small, innocent things that never were the... main point of certain dreams on certain nights that left the Once-ler sweating and sticky, but he managed. This was enough.

Until it wasn't, one bad day, four years after he'd ruined a whole world and that world still wouldn't let him fix it. His counterpart had him pressed up against the far wall of his bedroom, the world _UNLESS_ scratched into the wood right above him. They were kissing, just kissing, when the Once-ler felt the other's fingers brush his neck, working below his shirt collar.

At once, he frowned and jerked away a little, an instinctive reaction to that fragile line being crossed, but the young man just made a breathy little noise in his throat and pressed closer. His thumb trailed over the Once-ler's chest, rubbed his right nipple through his shirt.

And that did it, made him snap, alighted the passion to turn this into something it shouldn't have been. It was sick, more than crazy, to find yourself attracted to... yourself, but maybe that's what made it so easy to grab the young man's hips and nibble his neck and reach down to press between his legs, feeling him plump and swell.

Finally, something new, a dark little secret they had all to themselves. Maybe that's why they both stayed quiet like someone could hear them all the way through, and every escaped gasp or groan was cut off by a kiss or the press of a hand.

Still, they couldn't help the way their clothes shuffled, or the way the Once-ler's back thumped against the wall, or the soft, wet sounds between their hips as the young man timidly worked their arousals together.

And admittedly, every now and then, the Once-ler would swipe his fingers over their tips and pull them back dripping, if only so he could swallow his counterpart's whimpers like they were delicious. Just for the hell of it, since this was about as close as he would come to reclaiming a greed so familiar it made him grit his teeth and shake. And when the young man was the first to tense up and his lesser self moved to hold him through his completion, it was the thought of this boy being _his_ that made the Once-ler come so hard he saw stars of green and gold.

They slid to the floor together, breathless and spent. After a moment, the young man pulled away so he could peer at him sleepily, tilting his head.

"You were smiling, just now," he pointed out, and the Once-ler automatically knew it was nothing to celebrate. But before he could think, or move, or shame could start brewing in his gut, his counterpart (_sex partner_) leaned towards him, pillowing his head on the other's shoulder. His right hand, quivering and slick, rested uselessly on the floor.

Eventually, the man in gray fell asleep, tucked up against his companion's body, unaware that his older self wouldn't do the same for hours. Instead, with one arm thrown over the young man's shoulder and his free hand absently smoothing his hair, the Once-ler sat and breathed, occasionally twisting around to stare at the _UNLESS_ right over his head.


	5. Year 5

_Traditional Burdens_

There were some days he just didn't get out of bed, and his companion, for once, understood.

They never really talked about it, or mentioned it when they did talk, so it wasn't hard to believe those days couldn't affect them, as spaced out as they were. It was either that or... do something, and for all of their so-called genius, neither of them had figured out how to go about that, yet. So of course it was just a casual thing for the Once-ler to wake up one of those mornings to find his pillow tossed off the bed, replaced by his younger self's lap and hands.

"Happy birthday," the man in gray would whisper, bending to kiss him on the nose. And like always, the other would smile sadly down at him, and it didn't matter his own answering smile was never too real.

"Yeah, you too," he'd say.

And somehow, it was always good enough.


	6. Year 6

_Breathing Wastes_

The Once-ler said a lot to the Truffula seed over the years. And whenever there was some inkling of self-awareness present in his mind, he was sure he made a sight when doing it, too.

After all, what would Mom say? Or the rest of his family? Or any of his former employees? Was there a universally accepted reaction to seeing someone who used to clench a stretch of land in his money-green fist be reduced to scratching around in the dirt in front of his own factory every day, wasting his breath on a tiny brown dot that couldn't even answer him back?

All things considered, they'd probably laugh. It was most likely hilarious that the knees on his pantsuit were being worn out from so much kneeling, dark and slightly torn from the sandy earth no longer suited for growing much of anything, anymore. The same could be said for his poor gloves, and the elbows of his jacket, and his scuffed up shoes, and... everything about what he wore had gotten its share of abuse over the years, really.

His body, too, considering how his unkempt mat of hair itched his scalp too often to be normal and how too much of his skin had gone dry and rough like paper and how every morning it was a struggle just to get out of bed (though he had his counterpart for that, not that he could remember ever thanking him for it).

Truthfully, he wouldn't have blamed anyone for laughing at him. Only thing was, it still wasn't enough to make him stop.

Always, he spoke as if telling the seed a secret. Sometimes hushed little words, sometimes actual sentences, but mostly just snatches of scattered thought he had no time to run through any sanity filter before his lips moved with them. _It's fine don't worry_, he'd say. _Trust me I won't hurt you. Are you even there?_

And once in a while, at the most desperate times (which happened more and more often each year), the Once-ler would let himself think that maybe the reason nothing was getting better was that he just hadn't said the right thing.

Like now, for instance, on a windy day six years after his fall.

Watching this most recent conversation from his spot leaning against the door frame of the old factory's main entrance, his counterpart could hear every word.

"I get it," the Once-ler took in a shuddering breath of sour air, sitting cross-legged in front of the seed and the Unless monument and a chipped wine glass filled with cloudy water, "or at least I think I do, and I might not. But y'know, if I _don't_, I think I'm at least on the verge of getting it."

He hesitated, looking down, and the young man raised his eyebrows in concern. Just what was his older self about to-

"Well, what I mean to say is that I get one thing. It might not be all of what I need to get but... I understand. I think. I- um."

The man uncrossed his legs, bringing them up so he could wrap his stick-thin arms around them. He looked up at the sky.

"I'm really selfish, aren't I?"

The young man would never have any idea of why those words gripped him like they did, made something in his chest seize so hard that he nearly lost his breath, but he kept the impulse to run out there and throw his arms around the other firmly under control. For now.

"I mean, obviously I was like that before, when the company was up and I was making the theeds, and all that. It's... why this all happened, I guess. But I just realized, I'm not sure if I ever stopped being selfish. Maybe I never realized how deep it went because I wasn't too much of an ass about it along the way? I don't know."

He rested his chin on his knees, squinting towards the distance. If he concentrated really hard, he might have been able to see a fuzzy line of pink through the smog on the horizon, the closest thing this wasteland would ever get to a sunset.

"I've always wondered why my... efforts? Yeah, why my efforts never got through to you, and I'm starting to think that those efforts were never_ for _you. They were for me." He swallowed, taking off his hat and setting it to the side. "I've been trying to fix it because I wanted to feel better. I wanted you to grow, sure, but even when it came to this, _I_ was still the most important thing."

Still barely able to process what he was hearing, the man in gray just blinked as the Once-ler pressed the back of his hand to his eyes for a second, not caring that he was getting dirt all over his face.

"Is that what happens, usually? Do people who go out with something to prove always end up like this? Does this- ah, of course not. This happened because I was blind and stupid and... man." He scrubbed at his bloodshot eyes again, vision blurred and swimming. The seed still sat where he'd placed it, silent and unaware.

"Y'know something?" he murmured, barely able to keep his voice from cracking like he was still a teenager. "I really hate this suit. It's color. It's color is ugly. Like... nuclear sludge or something."

He tried to laugh it off (laugh _everything _off, though that kind of seemed like his counterpart's job) but stopped himself, clamping his mouth shut before he could cry or puke or whatever stupid thing his body wanted to make him do besides laugh.

A split second before the young man took a step forward to finally, finally close the distance between them, though, the Once-ler seemed to collect himself, rising to his knees. He tilted his head in the seed's direction.

"So yeah, I get it. This is not about me. It's about you, and what you can do, and this place you need to help, and unless..."

He looked down, biting his lip as his shoulders started to shake. To think that the meaning of that one word still hadn't come to him after all these years.

"Unless you... just..."

The Once-ler closed his eyes, sighing in defeat as a couple of escaped tears tracked lines in the grime on his cheeks. He scooped the seed up in his hands, brought it up so he could gently press it to his lips.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay? Please grow. For everyone."

And it was hard to predict and impossible to know how many people would have laughed at the crazy old Once-ler who didn't know when to quit, who stared at a little brown dot like it was the Most Important Thing as he tipped a half-full glass over it, wetting the seed and his gloves and the ground as if he could afford to waste water.

That's what they'd think, he knew, if they could see him. Crazy old Once-ler, who cried over plants that refused to grow. Crazy old Once-ler, who still wasn't forgiven by the world he'd destroyed. Crazy old Once-ler, who lived in the middle of the nowhere he'd created. Crazy old Once-ler, who was reduced to sinking into the arms of a younger, imaginary (?) version of himself because there was no one else around.

Oh, well. At least those arms were warm.

After that, he never spoke to the Truffula seed again.


	7. Year 7

Before the story goes on, I just wanna say thank you to everyone who's faved this story, especially to ScatterSunshine56, who took time to leave a few reviews. You rock! As of this chapter, this story is completely up to date with what I had originally posted on Tumblr. Hopefully this won't be the last one. As soon as I get really inspired, I'll put out some more. Thank you all for reading and for sticking with me. I really appreciate you!

And now...

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_The Last Thing_

His whole existence might have been one big question (or a thousand all lumped together) with not much in the way of explanations, but for the young man in gray, life was always pretty okay.

That's what it was like for those kinds of people, he guessed. The ones who would spend forever being that little whisper over the hero's shoulder, or the hands that pushed him in some not-always-right direction, or the body he indulged himself in on cold nights, or the smile that wasn't always returned. The ones who's need to _be there_ and _be needed_ was such a part of them that it went right back around to being selfishness again. The ones who always reached out first.

Sometimes, during a quiet moment or maybe just a soft guitar tune in the background, the young man would sit, and look up at whatever was above, and wonder if everyone got their chance to play that role. Had you even lived, if you'd never felt that raw validation only giving something (_brushing away tears, hushing sobs, holding a hand_) could do? And if some people actually lived _for _that, even though they had no idea why...

Sometimes, the Once-ler's younger self would mull over those things, and then give the ceiling or the sky a secret smile, and think himself the worst person in the world.

But there was nothing else to do but keep on going. It was his job, his _purpose_ to be the stabilizer in the Once-ler's life, and he knew, he knew in the bottom of whatever soul he had that there was certainly a balance to what they were doing, here. It would be upsetting their relationship, no doubt, if the Once-ler were to ever come to him, be the first to to talk to, or touch, or love _him_ instead of the other way around.

Things were fine, this way; little lies like that one kept the young man going for years.

Right up to the seventh year, to be exact.

The weather wasn't exactly _nice_, that morning part of his little reality burst and crumbled like glass. Nonetheless, there was a slight warmth in the air that wasn't at all responsible for the burning twist he felt in his stomach as he watched his older self stare at his own reflection in the bathroom mirror, something the Once-ler had never liked to do for too long. His gloved hands gripped the sink below like a lifeline, twitching and stiff as they held up half his weight.

There, hanging loose in front of the Once-ler's face, was a long, gray hair.

"I'm going to die here, aren't I?" he said, and if his voice sounded a bit too low and too dry for someone only twenty-eight, his counterpart was too lost in _you know what's going to happen now_ and _why are you so happy about this_ to notice.

But before he could smile, or walk forward, or open his arms in invitation, the Once-ler whirled around to face him, backed him up against the nearest wall with a dangerously empty look in his eyes. Not rough but not gentle, either, the man in green started combing his fingers through his counterpart's hair, searching intently for that tell-tale sign of mortality that just wasn't there.

Rigid and silent with shock, the young man swallowed and took it, only to be released a moment later, and hugged in the next.

"I'm going to die here," the Once-ler hissed against his neck. "I'm going to _die_."

Then, even as his mind reeled and his body refused to move on its own and he struggled with how to respond, the young man understood why this was happening, why he hadn't been the one to reach out first. Death was the last thing his other self had in his future, and he'd just realized that he had plenty of time (_too much time_) to wait for it.

It was all he had left to be afraid of, really. Every other fear had already come true.

Still, the older man hadn't said the whole truth, which actually meant something (_I will die here alone and nobody will care_). It was a small blessing, at best, an allowance for at least one of them to keep living in the moment instead of a future all too bleak. Never one to give up an opportunity, the man in gray snatched it, stored it right in that space in his chest where a beating heart should have been, held onto it like the Once-ler was holding onto him.

There was a part of the young man that wanted to stay like this for a while, doing nothing, taking affection instead of giving it. But of course not; there had to be some rule somewhere that only people who existed were allowed to have issues like this, so after a while he wiped his mind clean, slowly removed his arms from the tight embrace so he could return it tenfold.

"I'm going to die here," the Once-ler muttered again, almost as if he expected the other to agree with him and tell him he deserved it. And that might have been true six years ago, or fifteen minutes ago, but sticking completely to pattern now just didn't feel right.

So instead, he shushed and stroked and picked through the Once-ler's mess of dark hair for a moment, found that one strand of gray and gently smoothed it down before laying his cheek down on top of it.

Then he looked up, and tried to give the ceiling and the gray sky beyond it that secret smile, only to find that he couldn't. And for the life of him, he could hardly remember why.

_Fin_


	8. Year 8

Uh, yeah. Here, have another NSFW chapter. I don't know where this came from either, but thanks for reading anyway. ^_^

* * *

_Not Quite There_

The young man was temporary.

At certain moments on certain nights, if he sat still long enough with no guitar or Once-ler to distract him and sleep a far-fetched wish, he could feel it in his middle where his lungs only pretended to breathe. His head, too, if he let it reach up there. Most times, he didn't even need to close his eyes; all it took was the right amount of silence and there it was, creeping around the edges of his consciousness. It was very peculiar type of emptiness, something no living thing would ever feel, and it was eager for the moment he would finally let it swallow him.

And he knew that moment would come.

He'd go away one day, plain and simple, and the Once-ler would be really, truly alone and the young man... would just be gone (_and unneeded and of course he knew how wonderful that would be_). _Death_ was not the right word for it, but _disappearing _just wasn't the way to describe it either and _obliteration_ gave it more weight than it deserved, made his existence seem like something far more important than it actually was.

Maybe that was why he only let himself cry over it once, sometime during year eight, in the dead of night while the Once-ler himself slept.

Eyes open but seeing little, the man in gray stood with his hands on one of the wood planks nailed over the bedroom's only window, gripping it so hard that a real person would have pulled their fingers back numb and splintered and raw. He was practicing, he thought, getting used to the darkness since that was where he'd go once things got better.

Except he didn't want to leave.

There was no valid reason for it. There was no logic in it that didn't make him feel awful inside, but the thoughts and the darkness and the fact that soon he'd _stop feeling anything_ was really, really scaring him now. That might have been good enough for a human, but the young man was more like a symptom. As long as he was there, so was whatever illness his older self had (_and oh, he had one; it was there, plain as day, in his eyes all the time_).

And nothing would really get better until he left, because in reality (_cold dead reality stupid stupid reality_), the Once-ler needed him about as much as everyone needed a thneed.

It was amazing how selfish he was.

The Once-ler frowned in his sleep, shifting uncomfortably in his tangle of thin bedsheets when his counterpart's lips started to quiver. Forgetting his own problems for a moment (if only he could forget them for eternity), the young man had no time to hold in a couple tears as he leaned over the bed frame, reaching to rub the other's ankle. Couldn't have him fidgeting himself awake to see this.

If he kept sleeping, the Once-ler would get up in the morning thinking it was all a dream. Probably.

Hopefully.

Trying to keep himself from sniffling too loudly, the young man kept on petting his other self's ankles in an awkward attempt to soothe him. And maybe it was a good thing that it didn't work, that the tighter his throat got or the more tears that escaped, the more his older self tossed and let out little breathy noises and curled around his pillow like a child with a streak of gray in his hair. At least it was something else to be afraid of, right now in this moment, and then...

Well, now. Maybe the Once-ler wasn't the only one who loved distractions.

The young man clamped his free hand over his mouth to choke back a sob, and he could almost _feel_ the Once-ler's eyes snap open. And he tried, he really, honestly tried to snatch his hand away. He tried to back himself into the darkest part of the room before the other could notice anything was wrong, but then the there was a groan and a thump, and then the rusty little lamp on the bedside table was shining, and then they were staring at each other _and why wasn't the young man's body moving._

Eyes narrowed and bleary half from sleep and half from surprise, the Once-ler raised his eyebrows, looking at his companion's hunched shoulders and blotchy cheeks and his hand, which still hadn't moved from its spot on the Once-ler's leg.

"What's wrong? Did something happen?"

His counterpart looked down, finally pulling his hand away, twining both hands together for lack of anything better to do with them. A few more tears trailed down his cheeks.

"I know- I mean, it's nothing. I'm sor-"

"No, it's- it's okay, it's fine. It's just, uh..." the Once-ler trailed off and stared at him strangely, and for a few moments it was as if he _knew_, which would've made perfect sense but was still awful and terrifying for so many reasons. If he knew, then the young man would _never_ get to go away and nothing would really get better. If he knew, then his life was over, and he wouldn't have been the one to blame.

But then the Once-ler just shook his head like he was trying to clear his mind, tossed the wrinkled-up bed covers off of himself, and spread his arms out in front of him, looking more curious and concerned than anything else.

"Come here," he said.

So this was what it was like, thought the young man as he crawled up onto the bed, let himself droop into the embrace waiting for him. This was what it was like to need somebody instead of somebody needing him (or maybe it had always been that way and both of them were just kidding themselves).

It was both nice and kind of awful at the same time, he decided.

The elder of the two kept himself still at first, just sitting there with the young man cradled in his lap, head pressed close to his chest. One of the other's hands rested right over his heart, fingers splayed out like he wanted a pulse for himself. They stayed like that, legs loosely tangled together, and for a while the only sounds in the room were the young man's hitched-up breathing and the occasional broken hiccup and maybe the Once-ler _did_ know, considering how silent he was through it all.

Maybe the silence was a good thing in general, though; it also kept them safe from the truth.

Eventually, the Once-ler found it in himself to shift the young man in his arms, pulling him up so that his double's head was pressed flush against where his neck and shoulder met. From there, it was a simple transition, not a big deal at all for his hand to move cup the back his counterpart's neck, fingertips fiddling with the edges of his hair.

Except it _was _a big deal.

It was huge deal for so many reasons, and the swell the young man felt in his chest right then made him break down all over again, since there were a lot of things about this moment he was going to miss once he left.

There were still fresh tears rolling down the young man's face when they finally, finally lost themselves in a kiss that tasted absolutely perfect - bitter and salty and dry. Anything else just would have felt as fake as one of them was, and the young man wanted as much reality for himself to hold on to as possible.

So of course he let himself moan through his last few tears as the Once-ler lowered him down onto the bed and bent to kiss his neck, swapping words of comfort for actions because what was there to say that wouldn't destroy what little they had?

Not that didn't they deserve to have that happen (their audience of tree stumps outside would certainly agree); it was just that somehow it felt like they had time left for all that. No precious moments were being wasted here as the young man gripped his older self by the hair, eyes barely open as the Once-ler kissed and suckled and bit at his nipples until the delusion was keening for more.

Then, at last, the elder spread the young man's legs for him, coaxed him to twitch and leak with a thumb playing at the tip of his member and his other four fingers curled gently around the rest. And of course the man in gray fell victim to a desperate (familiar) rhythm as he rocked into the Once-ler's fist and, eventually, rocked against _him_, but there was no other way it could have gone. No other way for it to end other than them collapsing together, breathless and sweaty and wet between their thighs.

Those were sure, undeniable facts, just like disappearing or whatever the younger wanted to call it. Everyone would have to bow to facts, sometime.

The young man was temporary, more than a thought but less than a memory, and even if he got even better than he already was at trading fears for grins, he would never be ready for the day he had to go. So maybe the thing was to make himself ready with more times like this one. Times when he could afford to be ignorant of the facts and just focus on the unbridled little feelings, like the way something in his chest splintered to pieces when the Once-ler went to get that one thneed they had, wiped them both clean without a word.

And when the young man _did_ go away forever, that would mean his counterpart was ready to live on his own like normal, which only made him half as happy as it should have.

But he would learn. Learning was a part of life, after all.

In the last moments before he fell asleep on the Once-ler's chest, the young man took a huge, fake breath of heady air, pressed his hand to the Once-ler's cheek, and gave the darkness a wide, vacant smile. In return, the darkness welcomed him, beckoned him forward and he would give himself to it completely one day, but not now. Not for a while.

For the moment, everything was fine the way it was. As good as it could be, in fact, for someone who wasn't quite there.


End file.
